I couldn’t help but ask, “Is your son going to a dance?”
“No,” she shook her head sadly. “A funeral.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. “Were you close to the deceased?”
“Yes. It was my nephew. He was 17.”
I gasped.
“Can I ask—what happened?”
“Suicide.”
My heart broke.
She proceeded to tell me the whole story—he was autistic and a bit of a loner; kids made fun of him because he was different. He and his dad lived alone (his mom left when he was young).
But the worst part: this was his FOURTH attempt!
I just wanted to weep. For her. For him. For the loneliness and pain he must have felt—to want to take his own life that badly.
Brenda and her family have been on my heart ever since.
The next day, I met Sean at the park. He had two little dogs and was barefoot. I don’t think he was homeless, just more of a hippy. We started chatting about the crazy growth in Austin. He went on a bit of an incoherent rant about Fascism and China and the environment. I felt a prompting to linger and listen. I could tell he was bright and well-read and I told him so. He got teary and said, “Well, I’m autistic and I sure didn’t feel that way growing up. Everyone made fun of me because I stuttered and spoke out of turn. I am just now able to talk about it, at 52, because it hurt that much.”
Y’all. Two conversations like this in two days—plus the Buffalo, NY tragedy.
I see parallels of pain, alienation, and inner turmoil.
I shared each of these stories with my kids. My sweet daughter had big crocodile tears welling up in her eyes.
Then she said something that melted my heart: “Mommy, I know kids like this - that are weird. I sometimes get annoyed with them. Or just stay with my friends. But maybe God wants me to be kind to them. Because you never know what they’re going through.”
From the mouth of babes…
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